Disgraced
by jamurano
Summary: "Finally, she met his eyes and stared with her infamous disapproving glare that he always seemed to be at the end of. He tried to clear his dry throat to sound braver than he felt, but only managed to croak out: 'Mother...'" After his return to the Southern Isles, Hans is abused and humiliated at the hands of his family while civil unrest spreads throughout the country.
1. Punishment

_"Finally, she met his eyes and stared with her infamous disapproving glare that he always seemed to be at the end of. He tried to clear his dry throat to sound braver than he felt, but only managed to croak out:_

 _'Mother...'"_

 _After his return to the Southern Isles, Hans is abused and humiliated at the hands of his family while rumors of civil unrest and whispers of a violent revolution spread throughout the country._

* * *

Punishment

The heavy iron restraints pinched tightly, cutting into Hans' wrists as he was escorted down the wharf by the Arendelle Royal Guard. A shiver raked his body as his cold, wet clothes clung to his body; water dripping onto the wooden planks. His eyes strayed to the gazes of the delegates behind him, a mixture of poorly-concealed disgust and confusion painted their faces. Hans dropped his head in shame, his ears burned a fiery red. A hard lump seemed to form in his throat, but he refused to show any sort of weakness. He dared a last longing look at the kingdom of Arendelle that he failed so greatly to overtake. A slight frown tugged at his cold lips as he caught eye of the Queen and Princess. He scowled at their happiness before losing sight of them as he was dragged on board his ship: The R.L.S Legacy.

The pain in his wrists lessened significantly as the handcuffs were removed. Hans barely had time to rub at the raw lines on his wrists before he was unceremoniously shoved into the cell. He landed in an ungraceful slump on the floor, knocking into a wooden bucket and flipping it over his head.

A low groan escaped his dry lips before he pushed himself up to lean against the wall. The guards sneered contemptibly at him and spat at his feet before turning to leave. One of the expectorants had hit Hans in the face making him flinch with repulsion. He reached up to wipe away the offensive spittle and found blood staining his gloved fingers.

His nose gushed blood and the familiar, painful throb of a break slowly registered. The metallic taste disturbed his taste buds and made him nauseous. Hans carefully placed his thumbs on either side of his nose, probing the tender flesh until he could feel the break. With a quick, painful jerk he pushed his nose back into place, immediately causing the bleeding to slow and the pain to ease, at least a little.

Hans cautiously began to make his way to the wooden bed attached to the wall, despite the protest of his aching muscles. His skull pulsed with each heartbeat. Hans tried to rub out the migraine, but only seemed to make it worse now seeing dots in his vision. In that moment, his strength gave out and he instead resigned himself to curling up on the cool, hardwood beneath him.

He sighed a shuttering, agonizing breath. The seawater that he had swallowed, when he was punched overboard, had burned his lungs. He curled pitifully into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut, willing for this all to be some horrible nightmare, but when he opened his eyes again, all he could see was the small caged room he was in.

Hans shivered despite the warmth of the sun on his back. He felt so sick; everything swirled around him. He glanced at the wooden bucket that sat within reach, and without a second thought, he grabbed the bucket and retched.

As the crew walked back and forth to prepare for departure, Hans could hear them talking about him.

"Who would have known that His Highness would attack the Kingdom of Arendelle." A burly sailor sneered as he and his lanky companion hoisted another barrel of pickles to put below deck for the journey.

"He's a fool to think he could have successfully overturned the hierarchy." The other man chuckled shaking his head from his musings.

"Yet another failure to add to his exhaustive repertoire."

The lanky sailor noisily hocked a loogy and spat it overboard before voicing his agreement. "It's not the first and most certainly won't be the last."

An older sailor cussed them out viciously, shushing them and directing their attention to Prince Hans who was within listening distance.

They continued to murmur more quietly together as they carried the barrel to the open hatch, eyeing the prince apprehensively as they did so.

After hours of preparation and rounding up supplies for the journey, the RLS Legacy finally set sail. It would take months to arrive home, and Hans was dreading it; the very thought of going back to the life that he so desperately tried to rid himself of caused a shiver to trail down his spine. The nausea and anxiety ate away at him. It was all he could do not to tremble. He clenched his teeth hard making his head hurt more. Eventually exhaustion overtook him, and he managed to relax in his sleep.

Hans awoke early one dismal, foggy morning, shivering violently and absolutely drenched in sweat. He coughed, a thick, raspy sound; _God it hurts to breathe_. He coughed again and spat out the phlegmy aftermath.

He heard a faint rustling of keys and looked up to see the cabin boy, a lanky 15-year-old boy named Eli, pull the brig door open holding a tray of food.

"G'morning, Your Highness." Eli said cordially before stopping and slowly looking the prince over with a critical eye. "Are you alright, Sir?"

Hans narrowed his tired eyes in response, both in annoyance and exhaustion.

The teen looked frantically between the tray and over his shoulder a few times before taking the tray with him while shouting for the captain.

Moments later the cabin boy returned followed by Captain Regis, a burly and scruffy former Navy Lieutenant who averaged eight words and two facial expressions a week, and Doctor Ainsley, a relatively young doctor whose family had been working for the Westergaard family for the last three generations.

Dr. Ainsley looked Hans over. The prince was pale as a sheet and shivering, sweat soaking his clothes. The doctor pulled a watch out of his waistcoat to check Hans' pulse, then listened to his lungs, frowning as he put the stethoscope back in his bag.

"Well?" Captain Regis asked, his face slightly less scowled than usual.

"Pneumonia." Dr. Ainsley said glumly. "I suggest immediate bloodletting, willow bark tea twice daily, and a mustard plaster. Make sure he eats, preferably something bland, oatmeal perhaps."

The doctor turned to face Captain Regis with a sigh, "For His Highness to properly recover, I also suggest we move him to his quarters where he will be more comfortable, and we can better regulate his temperature."

Captain Regis made a gruff noise of agreement before exiting the brig with a slight limp. A moment later two guards came in and roughly grabbed Hans under his arms. Unable to support his own weight, Hans was dragged to his quarters before being laid down on the bed.

A muffled groan escaped him and his head was spinning wildly. He tried to calm his body by breathing slowly in and out, but could already feel the bile in his throat. He managed to turn to his side and lean over the bed before retching. The taste made him spew again. Hans coughed in-between gagging on his own sick. He dry-heaved a few more times before using his sheets to wipe his mouth and then, as he cautiously laid back down, he passed out.

A moment later Eli walked in with Hans' sick bucket only to stop as the stench assaulted his nostrils. He gagged as he noticed the chunks on the floor. With a frustrated sigh, he stalked into the kitchen to fill the bucket with cold water and then proceeded to mop up the mess as best as he could. Once finished, the young lad tossed the filthy water out over the side of the ship and, with a quick rinse, placed the pail by Hans' bedside.

Eli then took a moment to wipe Hans' sweat away and laid a cold, wet cloth over his fevered brow. No sooner had he done so, Dr. Ainsley strode into the room, placed his leather bag on the lone desk, and began rolling up his sleeves.

The doctor rapidly flipped his wrist back and forth as he passed an odd-looking blade over a leather strap several times.

"What's that, Sir?" Eli inquired, his interest piqued.

"A Fleam. It's for the bloodletting."

"How does it work?"

Dr. Ainsley rolled his eyes at the curious lad, but good-humoredly enlightened him.

"You use the blade to cut the veins or arteries needed, then use the tube on the opposite end to expel the bad blood into this cup." He held the ceramic cup in his hand as way of explanation.

Eli scratched the few, scraggly whiskers on his chin as he contemplated the procedure.

"So, you just shove it in his arm?"

"Not in so many words, but yes."

With the conversation seemingly finished, the doctor instructed Eli in making the mustard plaster and willow bark tea, he then turned to a very lethargic Hans and, in a single movement, tied a cloth tourniquet above his elbow.

He skillfully bled Hans as Eli watched, both horrified and intrigued by the sight. After collecting a few pints, he bandaged the wound site, gathered his supplies and left Eli to the cleanup.

When Hans finally awoke, it took him a few moments to realize he was laying in his personal quarters instead of the musty, rat-infested brig. He could vaguely remember people talking, but couldn't recall how he made it to his bed.

The scent of mustard and tobacco assaulted his senses. Hans lifted the thin blanket to see folded-up cheese cloth on his bare chest that he assumed must have had some sort of mustard concoction inside.

"Awake, are you?" A chuckle sounded from the desk on the opposite side of the room. Hans blinked rapidly to clear his tired eyes before focusing on the middle-aged man sitting at the desk. He was broad, with handsome black hair just beginning to show his maturity, combed in a fashionable way. He removed his thin reading glasses before closing his tattered copy of the _American Journal of the Medical Sciences_ he was reading and placing them on the desk.

"Dr. Ainsley..." Hans croaked out through his dry throat. The doctor helped Hans to sit up against the headboard and handed him a tankard of water.

"You've been asleep for a few days, barely waking enough for us to get you to eat and have you drink the tea." Hans choked on the water, making him cough violently, and causing water to dribble down his chin.

Dr. Ainsley placed his big, rough hand on Hans' forehead and waited for a moment, "the fever finally broke." Next, he grabbed his stethoscope to listen to his heart and lungs.

"He is still congested, so I would recommend we continue to follow the medicinal regiment we have been issuing. The willow bark tea we'll issue once daily now and progressively remove it from his system until he no longer needs it." Dr. Ainsley addressed his mutterings towards the end of the bed. Hans noticed then that Eli was also present, taking care to note down what the doctor was saying in his uneducated chicken scratch.

Hans flinched as the doctor's fingers were now prodding his tender nose. "Seems to be healing well, let's only use the tobacco salve on it for a few more days." Dr. Ainsley walked swiftly back to the desk where his bag sat open, neatly packed away his supplies and snapped the bag shut with a gentle, metallic click.

He then brought over a cup of tea. "Here, drink". Hans gingerly took the cup before breathing in the woodsy scent of the willow bark tea. He blew into the cup briefly before taking a sip; cringing at the bitter taste, though it did soothe his sore throat. After he drank about half, he placed the cup down much more heavily than he had intended.

"Get some rest, I'll see you tomorrow." Dr. Ainsley gathered his bag and left the room with a respectful bow of his head.

Hans examined himself as much as he could in his weakened state. His body ached and his arms were covered in bandages. He knitted his brows together in confusion.

"From bloodletting, Your Highness." The cabin boy piped up. Hans nodded mutely and brought his hand to his clammy face. He could feel a prickly beard growing in and bags under his eyes that showed how drained his body felt, but other than that wasn't sure how he looked without a mirror. His head thudded dully every so often, but Hans no longer felt like he would be sick.

Eli brought a wooden bucket of water over to the bedside and wrung out a cloth. He proceeded to give His Highness a sponge bath, as best as he could, to rid Hans of the sticky sweat that clung to his skin. Once done, Eli excused himself to help the cook prepare supper.

Hans, finally alone, sighed tiredly and closed his heavy eyes only to realize he couldn't fall asleep. Frustrated, he turned his head to face the port hole that was cracked open to allow fresh air to filter through. Hans breathed in deeply.

He couldn't see much from his current position, but could see some of the sky. He focused on the sounds around him: the ship creaking and moaning as the ocean waves pushed it gently along, the muffled voices of the crew on the other side of the closed door, and the occasional flapping of the sails in the wind. The white noise slowly lulled him into a heavy sleep.

The air had changed from the salty mid-day heat of July to the cool, misty mornings of October. Hans felt queasy, but this time it wasn't a sickness that overcame him. His chest was heavy, and it was difficult to control his breathing, but he somehow managed to keep face. He clenched his hands into fists to try to contain the trembling and took a moment to compose himself before a sharp knock at the cabin door startled him and without waiting for a response, Eli stepped in.

"We are approaching the Southern Isles, Your Highness. The captain sent me to assist you in preparing for departure." The boy quickly prepared a basin of hot water. Hans was scrubbed clean and was more than happy to have his unruly beard shaved off. Eli assisted Hans with changing into one of his nicer suits, then followed him out to the deck where two guards stood waiting to escort him.

Captain Regis and First Mate Erikson kept a watchful eye as the kedge anchors were loaded into two of the longboats and lowered, along with their crews, into the water.

Hans watched as the remaining crew pulled the ship up to where the anchors were being dropped. With every advance, Hans could feel his stomach tighten more and more, making him feel slightly ill. He briefly considered jumping ship and relying on his excellent swimming to help him escape the nightmare that inevitably awaited him on land, but ultimately decided against it, if for no other reason than his pride and the fact that he had nowhere to swim to. He would be a fugitive no matter where he went.

With a final pull and a cheer from the tired crew, the RLS Legacy had finally docked at port and the crew began disembarking and unloading cargo. The prince was, apparently, included in the latter category and was led in front of his horse, Sitron, up the dock to where a footman stood at attention with one of the Westergaard family's carriages.

He was sat in the carriage and listened idly to the coachman snapping the reigns to life and encouraging his team of horses forward. Hans' eyes didn't stray from his clasped hands that laid in his lap. He kept his breathing as calm as he could on the outside, but on the inside, he was a jumbled mess of dread. He hoped that an axel would break putting off their arrival, but no such happenstance prolonged their journey and soon enough the carriage had come to a stop at the enormous, iron-wrought gates bordering the castle of the Southern Isles.

Upon seeing the royal carriage, the guards atop the wall removed the barricades to allow passage and from there it was only a short half mile trip up the pristine cobbled road, through the front gardens, to the impending doors of Hans' childhood home.

The coachman brought the horses to a steady halt and the prince was ushered out of the carriage. The butler, housekeeper, and two footmen were waiting patiently to welcome their Master home; his family nowhere in sight.

The accompanying guards tightened their grip painfully on the prince and kept him moving through the corridors. Hans hardly noticed the maids, who bowed their heads and backed up against the walls as he was escorted by, but he could certainly feel their curious gazes on his back as he passed.

Hans could feel his heart plunge into his stomach as they stopped in front of a pair of large, ornate, oak doors. His desire to run was so strong that he took a subconscious step backwards. One of the guards knocked loudly on the door, the sound echoing against the marble flooring and tall ceilings. After what seemed like an eternity, the doors were pulled open by a couple of footmen.

The study was as beautiful as ever. An inviting blaze crackled welcomingly in the large granite fireplace on the far side of the room, emanating a warm glow and warming Hans' frigid fingers. Books lined the walls and towered high above with spiral staircases reaching high to the second level of the study, showcasing the enormity of the room. A massive solid oak desk sat in front of the bay window, the later straddled by deep crimson drapery with gold colored fringe, and papers had been stacked neatly on the desk along with various important looking tomes.

Sitting at the desk was a thin, elegant woman. She was in her 60s, but looked young for her age. Her silver-streaked hair had been pulled tightly away from her face in a neat chignon revealing soft, refined features, the gown she adorned, much like the drapes, was a deep velvety color that paled her flawless, porcelain skin, and upon her head, her crown glittered gently in the flickering light of the fireplace. She was distinguished and silent as she continued reading through the small stack of notarized documents before her, pausing to sign a few and occasionally sipping at her tea.

The air grew thick with tension as the silence ebbed on.

Finally, the woman cleaned out her quill and looked up at the guards, completely ignoring Hans' presence.

"Your Majesty, I brought Prince Hans to see you, as requested." The queen mother's face betrayed no emotion as she gave a curt nod of dismissal. The guards and footmen backed out of the room with a quick bow and the door clicked shut ominously behind them.

Silence buzzed loudly in Hans' ears as he waited, refraining from fidgeting. The queen mother stood from her desk. Her shoes tapped lightly on the floor as she calmly made her way over to him.

Hans shuddered.

Finally, she met his eyes and stared with her infamous disapproving glare that he always seemed to be at the end of. He tried to clear his dry throat to sound braver than he felt, but only managed to croak out:

"Mother..."

A sharp pain exploded across his face making Hans tumble gracelessly to the ground. His cheek burned a fiery red and tears pricked his eyes. He said nothing more and stayed in his fallen position. His mother then grabbed him by the hair, forcefully pulling his face level with hers to inspect it. Pleased with the angry red mark she had left, she shoved him back down and stood poised with cold, deadly eyes.

"How **dare** you dishonor my name, my kingdom, you worthless pile of filth!" Her heeled boots clicked rapidly over to her desk. She ripped a letter from it, causing several papers to cascade to the floor in the process.

"I received an official affidavit just days before your return, only to discover that we are now severed from ever working with or traveling to Arendelle again." She hissed, venom dripping from her words. "After months of you begging to go, to represent our family, you attempt to murder their Queen and Princess and usurp their kingdom? You've embarrassed me for the last time! You are every bit the despicable disgrace that your late father was." She seethed stomping towards him. She gripped his face harshly, digging her long nails into his soft skin.

"You are no longer worthy of the Westergaard family name," she spat angrily before standing, towering over him menacingly.

"Unfortunately, I cannot revoke your title, as that right is reserved only for the king. I will, however, attempt to cover up your short comings as much as I can to protect this kingdom's reputation." She let out an agitated snarl before sinking back into her chair. Reaching for her tea, the queen mother brought the cup delicately to her lips, taking a sip and frowning at the now cold liquid.

"You will go to your chambers for the remainder of the night and stay there. In the future, you are banned from showing your face out of doors ever again and you will join the family for dinner tomorrow night. That is not a request." Hans could feel her eyes burning into him, but he refused to meet her glare.

"You are dismissed." She snapped before ringing the bell for service. The footmen quickly came into the room barely glancing at the prince, who was gathering himself off the floor, and quickly poured Her Majesty a new cup of tea.

Hans was escorted to his room before he was finally alone. He knew the guards would be stationed on the outside of his door for the night, but at least inside he'd be alone.

He collapsed on his bed, back facing the door, and shuddered. He had certainly been expecting her assault, but was always unprepared for it somehow. He gingerly touched his cheek, which still burned beneath his fingers. The queen mother's nails had grazed him leaving four angry raised marks on the red hot, hand-shaped welt.

Now with no one's eyes trained on him, Hans could finally let it all go. Tears stained his face and sobs choked him. He could hardly breathe between his anguished cries. Even though his mother had clearly restrained herself this time, he couldn't help each new wave of sobs from racking his body.

His breaths became quick and shallow as his pulse began to speed up and his blood-pressure began to rise making him lightheaded. He could see the black tunnels growing in his vision as the panic attack grew worse.

Knowing that if he didn't calm down he'd pass out, Hans leaned forward on the bed until his head was between his knees and focused solely on breathing. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. He continued counting, as he had after so many encounters with the queen mother, until the tunnels retracted and his breathing stabilized. He sluggishly changed into his sleepwear not wanting to wait on his valet, let alone have anyone see him in his misery. Hans crept back into bed and hid himself in the fluffy comfort of his goose feather-filled blankets.

A small knock sounded at his door, before it opened without waiting for a response. Hans knew who it was without even needing to look. The middle-aged valet came in holding a silver tray in his gloved hands. Hans, still facing the wall, subtly wiped at his face to clear his long-dried emotions. He stayed where he was though, pretending to be asleep and listening carefully.

The newcomer set the tray down on the desk before picking up the few clothes that lay discarded on the floor. Not seeing much else for him to address, the valet knocked on the door signaling to the guards that he was done for the evening and left.

Hans laid there in silence for a moment before the scent of food wafted to his nose. His stomach growled eagerly. He ignored it defiantly at first until the hollow pain in his gut urged him from his cocoon of blankets. He entered his adjourning bathroom first to splash his tired face in the basin. He dried it on the nearby hand towel, then peered at his ragged complexion in the mirror.

Dark bags sat underneath his fatigued eyes, his hair was unkempt, and his pale face a bit gaunt as he hadn't had much of an appetite lately. The red handprint was already fading as Hans trailed his fingers along the mark. He sighed at his reflection and ran his hand through his dry, tangled hair.

He lumbered out of the bathroom before cautiously stepping up to the tray and removing the lid.

He stared at the decadent array of food that graced his eyes and nose: duckling cutlets in tomatoes and white wine, baby peas with butter and parsley, a green salad, and turtle consommé topped with quenelles and sautéed sweetbread. His stomach growled again as he realized how hungry he truly was. He sat at his desk and ate his supper for what felt like the first time in days.

Now full, Hans set the tray aside and retreated back under the comfort of the blankets. He curled himself into a ball and allowed himself to fall into the numb bliss of slumber.

"Wake up." An elderly woman cooed to the lump under the thin sheets. Her only reply was a soft groan of displeasure. The woman sighed and ripped the blankets from the bed.

"Ok, ok... I-I'm up." A petite young girl rose from the creaky old bed rubbing the sleep from her eyes and blinking tiredly at the woman in front of her.

"Really Malene, after two years of working here, you would think you could wake yourself up." The elderly woman chastised with a light chuckle. "Now, It's nearly 5 this morning, so you best hurry."

Malene rolled her amber eyes before ushering the woman out so she could change clothes. She stumbled out of her nightgown and slipped on her long black uniform. Approaching the small mirror on the wall the girl peered blearily at her frazzled reflection and reflexively grabbed the small horsehair brush. She deftly tamed her misshapen braid, rearranging her hair into a taut, high bun and tied her yellow ribbon around it before pinning the headband neatly into place. She shoved on her black boots, lacing them tightly and giving them a quick shine before finally throwing on her apron, tying it as she exited the room.

Making her way into the servants dinning quarters, Malene yawned and plopped down heavily in a chair next to her elderly friend, Edith.

The kitchen assistant, Poppy, placed a small bowl of porridge down in front of the hungry girl before moving on to serve the next person.

Malene shoveled a large spoonful of breakfast in her mouth before giving her friend a small awkward smile attempting to keep the porridge in. Edith smiled back, shook her head in amusement at the girl's impression of a chipmunk, and returned to stirring the honey into her tea.

As Malene continued to eat, she absentmindedly touched the ends of her hair ribbon and mulled over her chores for the day when an irritated voice broke the relative silence of her meal.

"I'm telling the truth!" an obnoxiously loud voice screeched, breaking Malene out of her reverie, while all still seated at the table tuned in to the commotion. The maid in question puffed her large chest out, feeding off the attention she was receiving, before continuing in a mock whisper, "Prince Hans was practically dragged in to the queen mother's study by at least half a dozen guards." Her piggish chin held high so she could peer down at those around her with a knowing sneer.

"How would you know?" a petite elderly woman challenged with narrowed eyes, her lips set tightly into a thin line.

"Oh, shut up Eunice!" the gossiper hissed, "my friend Gertrude saw the whole thing along with several other maids!"

"It's true, I saw it as well," squeaked out the timid, mousy brown-haired girl sitting on the other side of Malene. "Though I don't remember it being quite so many gua-"

"See, Eunice," Irma cut in, "I only tell the truth. I also heard," she added, her voice in a low, scandalized tone, "that he slaughtered the queen and princess of Arendelle!"

The maids and footmen gasped in horror and the room exploded in uproar at the very idea, spreading their fear like wildfire through the servants' hall. Everyone shouting at once to be heard over each other.

"Dear God, does this mean war?"

"Do you think the Southern Isles would even stand a chance against Arendelle's militia?"

Malene rubbed at her temples, a headache beginning to form from the noise. She rolled her eyes at the gossip, but couldn't help but feel her own fear creeping up inside her. She swallowed hard and tried to block out the noise by squeezing her eyes shut, but the ruckus persisted.

"What are you still doing in here?" Everyone quickly fell silent and stood to attention as the butler, Mr. Wiggins, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hodgesworth, came into the room. Malene realized a beat too late that Mrs. Hodgesworth was speaking to her. She stood in open-mouthed silence at the thin, crow-like woman, unsure of how to respond.

"Well, don't just stand there-"

"I hadn't informed her yet, Mrs. Hodgesworth," Mr. Wiggins cut in. He turned to address Malene whose brows were firmly knit together in confusion.

"Ms. Mogensen," He began, his hands gently gripping a food tray in front of him, "Her Majesty has requested that I select a female employee to become Prince Hans' valet. After careful deliberation, I have chosen you to fill the position."

"A female valet? Who's ever heard of such a thing?" a girl snapped from the end of the table. The room murmured in agreement.

"That's positively scandalous." Irma hissed to her neighbor.

"What an embarrassment for his majesty to have a young woman see him in all manner of undress." Eunice crooned. The very idea made her sick.

"What about his current valet? John Smith?" a footman asked. Again, the room murmured in agreement.

"That has already been taken care of." Mr. Wiggins answered curtly.

"But why a woman? And if Her Majesty was so insistent on a woman, why Malene?" A stocky red-headed woman griped, jabbing her grubby, sausage-like finger inches from Malene's face. "She's new, most of us have been here longer _and_ deserve the position more than she does."

Mr. Wiggins eyed everyone down, his stern, authoritative air silencing the room, and when the silence had finally settled in, he turned to address Malene once more, "My dear, we don't have a uniform prepared for you quite yet as it was such late notice, but you will be serving His Highness directly starting this morning, that is, if you choose to accept the position."

Malene stood in dumb-struck horror as she processed everything. She, a female valet? It's absurd! No one would take her or His Highness seriously again! She had no prior training in this field of work and the prince would be the laughing stock of the entire kingdom! But…

It _was_ a sizeable raise…

Malene chewed her lip anxiously. This was a huge opportunity that she would be foolish to dismiss so easily. Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest. She darted her gaze from her sweaty palms back to the butler's waiting expression.

Her throat seemed to close up, preventing her from speaking. Instead she offered a curt nod in way of agreement, stepped over the bench, and followed Mr. Wiggins out of the servants' quarters. She could feel the glares and hear the gossip spreading already. She held her chin high, her eyes forward, and kept pace with Mr. Wiggins.

Mr. Wiggins turned to face his subordinate, his eyes softened a bit, and a smile graced his features. He handed her the large tray, containing what she suspected to be the prince's breakfast, then placed a large gloved hand on her shoulder, giving Malene a reassuring squeeze.

She adjusted her grip carefully carrying the heavy tray through the hidden servant halls and up two flights of stairs. Her boots echoed quietly against the marble flooring as she approached the door to Prince Hans' room. Malene nodded nervously at a passing footman. She took a deep breath, and, shifting the tray to one hand, she knocked, waited a beat, then pushed open the door.

The room was spacious, but seemed to lack any _real_ personality. It was lavishly decorated in wine-colored velvet drapes, a thick oriental rug, silk tapestries from his many travels, and a large oak desk that sat facing away from the balcony windows. She placed the food on the desk and allowed herself to bask in the richness of the room.

An intricately carved bookshelf was filled with many thick, leather-bound books that seemed to be well worn from many readings. A massive armoire faced the bed against the opposite wall, which Malene was certain would hold only the finest fabrics, patterns, and vibrant colors. The bed was bigger than her room and most likely more comfortable than her own. The sheets were thrown back and disheveled, indicating that Hans was indeed home from his voyage.

Unable to resist, she approached the bed and gently trailed her fingers across the intricate pattern that had clearly been hand-stitched into the lavish, golden-bronze fabric.

"What are you doing in here?"

Malene's heart leapt to her throat as she spun around to see Prince Hans standing in the doorway to his bathroom. Heat radiated from her face as she quickly backed away from the bed, nearly tripping over her own two feet. Unaccustomed to addressing a member of the household, she stammered awkwardly, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Suddenly, her brain registered what he was wearing, or rather, the lack of what he was wearing. Hans, most likely waiting on his valet to help dress him, was still wearing his thin, cotton night shirt. Her face flushed even deeper and she quickly darted her eyes away, avoiding eye-contact. The only men she had seen in such a state were her own father and two brothers. It seemed highly improper to her to see His Highness in such a state of undress.

"I-I'm your new valet, Your Highness" she managed to squeak out.

It was silent, too silent. _Did he leave?_ She dared a peak over at him and noticed he was now covering himself with a robe; his face completely void of expression. Concerned, Malene went to move towards him, but was startled once more as Hans hastily walked around her, threw the bedroom door open with enough force that it hit the wall, and rushed through it with purpose.

"Wiggins!" He hollered, halfway down the hall. Malene cringed at the unpleasant ringing in her ears from his outburst, but decided to stay behind and perhaps get a head start on tidying the room.

Hans stomped through the corridors screaming for Mr. Wiggins as he went. This had to be some sort of sick joke. He glowered at the maids as they scurried out of his way.

"Wiggins!" Hans screamed again.

The butler finally emerged from the room belonging to the king, Hans' eldest brother, and calmly met the prince halfway down the hall.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"What is the meaning of this? What happened to my valet, Mr. Smith? Why is there a maid in my room claiming to be my new valet? What is going on?!"

Mr. Wiggins waited patiently for Hans to cease his bellowing before speaking, "Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, asked me to reassign a maid as your valet. I chose Ms. Mogensen as she is young and capable. Though she has only been here for a couple of years she has proven to be a fast learner and a responsible employee. Her Majesty and I both believed she would have the easiest transition. Your former valet, John Smith, has accepted a new situation as my underbutler."

Hans stood in silent rage. He slowly nodded his head as if having a hard time processing what had been said to him.

With a sharp 'tsk!' Hans abruptly turned on his heel and stomped back down the hall, fuming. He could feel his face turn a dark crimson as he realized the implications of having a woman as his valet.

Without any hesitation, Hans slammed his chamber doors open.

Malene jumped, eliciting a small squeak of surprise. She quickly finished turning down the sheets while Hans, ignoring her presence, threw the wardrobe doors open and began digging through the various clothes inside. After tossing a few articles onto the bed, he began to strip. Shocked by the sudden display, it took Malene a moment to register what was happening. Once the pieces finally clicked she thrust her hands over her eyes, scrambling to cover them in an attempt at issuing His Highness some small amount of privacy.

"Y-your Highness! Please, as your valet, _I_ am supposed to dress you!" Although Malene knew this, she couldn't bring herself to move and act upon her declaration.

Hans, again, ignored her and shoved his arms into the sleeves of his dress shirt. He grabbed his trousers and thrust one leg into its corresponding hole. As he shoved the other leg through, his foot caught and a distinct ripping sound halted his movement.

Malene slowly moved her hands away from her face and glanced in the prince's direction. Hans shucked the trousers off, inspected the now large hole in the crotch, and growling in frustration, he tossed the trousers at Malene's face before digging out a new pair.

Malene stood there in stunned silence as gravity shifted the trousers off her head and face and, almost robotically, she began gathering them in her arms.

"Fix them." Hans stated in a clipped voice, not even sparing a glance in the girl's direction, as he pulled on the new pair of trousers a bit more carefully.

Malene nodded, then, remembering that he couldn't see her, added a quick, "Yes, Your Highness." Annoyed with Hans' bad attitude, and general lack of gratitude and manners, she stuck her tongue out childishly at the back of his head.

Hans suddenly turned towards her. Her tongue retreated back in between her lips so quickly she was afraid she'd swallow it.

"What are you waiting for?" Hans snarked, " _Go_."

Malene curtsied and hastily exited the room.

As she trudged down the hallways and hidden staircases, keeping out of sight, Malene grumbled angrily under her breath.

"Fix this!" she repeated to herself in a mocking, sing-song voice, loosely imitating the royal pain she had just encountered.

"What are you waiting for?" she continued, sashaying her hips to emphasis her jeering, "Christmas, I'm waiting for Christmas…. Lord, I need a holiday."


	2. Broken

Broken

Malene swung her bedroom door open, the old, rusty hinges emanating a high-pitched squeak. She trudged inside and leaned back against the door, letting her weight close it behind her. She stayed there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, trying to breathe her anger back out, but Prince Hans' pompous face refused to leave her mind.

"Spoiled brat" she snarled in irritation. Malene stomped over to her dresser and dug out a basket from the bottom drawer. The dresser shook ominously as she kicked the drawer closed. "In all my years of maid work, I have never dealt with someone so arrogant, so ill-mannered, so-so… _ugh_!" she growled, tossing the trousers angrily towards the bed. She plopped down heavily, ripped the lid off the wicker basket, and dug around for some matching thread and a sewing needle. She angrily flipped the trousers inside-out then began stitching the rip.

"Can you believe his attitude, Beatrice? I'm just trying to do my job and all he does is give me grief." Her addressee remained silent and Malene took the opportunity to continue her heated rant. "I mean what is his problem? It's not like it's my fault that we are in this predicament." She gave an unladylike snort and rolled her eyes, "Who does he think he is?"

"Royalty," Malene answered her own question bitterly, "Well, he sure doesn't act like it."

She worked in agitated silence for several minutes, pulling the needle through the wool fabric and creating a familiar rhythm, before a sudden pain shot through her finger. Malene hissed and immediately tucked the tip of her injured finger in her mouth. She removed the digit with a soft 'pip' and inspected the damage from the accidental pin prick. A small bead of blood began to well up from the wound. Malene narrowed her eyes at it in annoyance.

"This is all his fault." She grumbled as she fished her handkerchief from the pocket of her apron and wrapped it around her finger. She fumbled with the cloth for a moment, before huffing in annoyance and opting to knot the ends tautly with her teeth.

After tending to her wound, which throbbed painfully, Malene checked over Hans' trousers to make sure she hadn't stained the fabric. She sighed a breath of relief when no trace of blood was found. She picked up where she left off and finished the last few stitches, tied off the thread, tossed her supplies back in the dresser drawer, and placed the now folded trousers on the chair near her bed.

Malene stretched her arms above her head pulling her muscles tautly. The release of tension caused a light moan of pleasure to escape her throat before relaxing once more. She allowed herself to enjoy the relative silence of her room for a moment, listening idly to the faint hustle and bustle in the servants' quarters. She could smell fresh baked bread wafting in from the servants' kitchen and soap from the plump, mousy dish maid hard at work. A sudden clatter echoed through the hall and the cook's colorful language soon followed.

Malene chuckled, only picking up on a word here and there. She was calmer now. She picked up a filmy glass from the top of her dresser, filled it with water from her small, wooden basin, and approached the only window in her room.

Sitting on the sill were various small pots of ferns and pothos, though her favorite of them -a green leafy plant with serrated leaves and a single short, but leggy stem sticking out from the middle- was nestled in a beautiful hand-carved Redwood pot. The Purple Lace Dahlia bloomed only once each year and Malene knew to be careful as it was a delicate and rather rare flower. She slowly poured the liquid into the pot before addressing the plant once more.

"Alright, Beatrice, it's time to go back into the fray. Keep an eye on the place for me?" The Dahlia didn't respond, but Malene nodded in pleasant affirmation. "Alright then. I'll see if the cook can spare a few egg shells in return."

The hallways were bustling with activity as housemaids went about their duties, preparing the castle to their mistress' liking: draperies were being beat -removing dust and the occasional cobweb-, windows polished, and portraits dusted until the figures shone proud once more in the bright afternoon light. The women scrubbed baseboards, wiped down long, intricately carved tables, and refilled the vases that sat atop them with fresh, beautiful bouquets of flowers. Finally, the sconces and walls surrounding the oil lamps were scrubbed to remove the black, tacky residue before re-lighting the oil.

As Malene weaved through the hustle and bustle, moving deftly to avoid running into the busy women, she could feel the glares all around her. Resentful whispers drifted to her ears in an indistinct hiss of voices, though she still managed to catch the occasional word: " _undeserving… imprudent… improper… vile…"_ She picked up her pace, keeping her head held high.

When she finally approached the large double doors, Malene couldn't help but feel a frown tug at her lips as she recalled how His Highness had acted earlier. She eyed the covered sterling-silver tray in her hands, her pale reflection peered warily back at her from the perfectly polished surface. Her eyebrows knitted together. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and slowly released the breath, regaining her composure and smoothing out her tension. She snapped her eyes open with renewed determination burning in her eyes.

Shifting the tray over to one hand Malene knocked loudly on the door, turned the brass handle, and pushed; it wouldn't budge. She jiggled the handle once more before realizing that it was locked from the inside.

"Your Highness, it's your valet… Malene Mogensen? I've come with your midday meal." she called out, "and your trousers?" Malene pressed her ear against the door. She could hear some shuffling coming from inside, though it didn't seem to be approaching the door.

"Your Highness… Please let me in so I can assist you," she begged as she banged on the door. Her irritation was once again rising as she just wanted to get this done and over with.

"I am in _**no**_ need of _**your**_ assistance." a muffled, albeit snarky, voice replied from the other side. Malene resisted the urge to roll her eyes and knocked on the solid oak once more. No response. A frustrated huff of air slipped through her lips.

Two valets that Malene was vaguely aware of passed her by, eyeing her curiously and with a hint of mirth. The chubby, balding one - "Percy", her mind supplied- and the other -whose name escaped her just now- snickered openly at her predicament. The latter's curly, red hair bounced wildly and his freckled nose scrunched up in a manner that Malene found irritating and made his already sharp face even less attractive.

She could feel the heat rush up to her cheeks, her ears turned a charming shade of scarlet, and her free hand balled up into a fist, shaking slightly with agitation. She spun on her heel and stormed down the hall after the men, stopping in front of them making the pair come to an abrupt halt. They eyed each other in startled bewilderment, before their expressions returned to neutral arrogance.

"May I help you?" Percy asked, his voice impatient and a little gruff. His red-headed companion visibly bit his tongue to stifle a bark of laughter.

Malene held her tongue and instead forced a pleasant smile on her face. "Kind sirs, where might I find Mr. Wiggins this afternoon?"

Percy casually checked his pocket watch. "It's near his Afternoon Tea, so he'd be heading for the kitchens."

Malene thanked him with forced kindness before rushing down the hall to the servant stairs, taking them two at a time. She remained mindful of the tray still in her hands, not wanting to risk dropping it. She sped around a corner, nearly bumping into a footman and with a quick curtsy as an apology, she continued towards the kitchens as fast as she dared.

She peeked her head around the doors, the smell of spices almost overwhelming. Her mind automatically tried to name them but could only recognize a small handful of them as she breathed in the aromas: Bay Leaves, Turmeric, Coriander, Anise, Oregano, and Basil. A small smile graced her face as she continued to scan the room.

The kitchen was alive and bustling with prep work for what was sure to be a delicious supper. The Patisserie was piping a thick batter on a baking sheet and melting down a rich chocolate, the kitchen-hands were chopping up a mountain of vegetables, stirring several sauces, and sautéing onions and garlic, and the Sous Chef was tasting everything while delegating work to his kitchen staff.

Malene was, however, unable to spot the man she was searching for. Just as she was about to move away from the door to look elsewhere, a gentle murmur of conversation and the echo of rising footsteps flowed up from the wine cellar.

"Yes, I absolutely agree, in ordinary circumstances, but considering that it's in honor of the prince's return, I think the Mersault would be best with the second course."

Mr. Wiggins appeared from the cool depths of the cellar followed by Chef Louis who seemed a tad annoyed, but resigned at Mr. Wiggins' comment.

"Oui, I suppose you are right, but it will be a cold day in Hell before I serve orange jelly with _my_ roast venison."

Mr. Wiggins opened his mouth to reply, when he locked eyes with Malene.

"Ms. Mogensen? What are you doing here?" Mr. Wiggins asked, his bushy eyebrows rose in mild surprise. He curiously eyed the tray she held in her hands. "Did His Highness not like what was sent up?"

"What!?" Chef Louis' face turned red with indignation. "Not like my superb culinary faire? This is an outrage!" He began a tirade in a language Malene couldn't understand while checking on various sauces and slamming the lids angrily. His sous chef seemed unnerved, but the saucier looked terrified.

"I honestly have no way of knowing whether he likes his meal, Sir. He locked me out and refuses to respond."

"I see." Mr. Wiggins rubbed the bridge of his nose before turning to leave. "Come with me, Ms. Mogensen."

Hundreds of keys bounced off Mrs. Hodgesworth's hip making them clank together repeatedly as she walked briskly up the stairs.

"Honestly, I don't know why the moment everything falls apart, it's inevitably up to me to mend it, but I suppose I must."

Malene and Mr. Wiggins stayed silent as they followed the grumbling housekeeper and made their way down the hall to Prince Hans' chambers. Mrs. Hodgesworth unclasped the key ring from her hip, searching for the correct key, but Mr. Wiggins stopped her, stilling her fingers with his big hand. She eyed him reproachfully before giving a respectful nod and stepping aside.

Mr. Wiggins knocked on the door and waited a brief moment before trying the door himself; still locked.

He cleared his throat, "Your Highness, It's Mr. Wiggins. Do open the door, Sire."

Malene waited with baited breath. The tray was beginning to weigh heavily, making her arms ache. She shifted her grip on the load, moving it just enough to relieve some of the strain.

The butler turned to Mrs. Hodgesworth and nodded, giving her permission to unlock the door. Just as she was about to insert the key into the keyhole, the door lock gave a muffled 'click' from the other side, announcing Hans' reluctant resignation. Mr. Wiggins' eyes twinkled with amusement before opening the door.

Malene peered around the butler into the room. The oil lamps had been put out and the heavy drapery had been pulled across the windows to block out the sun. She cautiously stepped in and shuffled over to where she was sure the desk was. Tentatively she reached a hand out ahead of her to search for the hard surface before lightly pushing the tray onto it.

"Ms. Mogensen, the windows if you don't mind." Mr. Wiggins called from the doorway.

Malene nodded automatically, despite knowing the butler couldn't see her, and blindly stepped toward the halo of light that beamed around the drapery. She grasped the soft, heavy fabric in her hands and with one great motion, she flung them open, immediately illuminating the room with the bright midday sun and nearly blinding herself in the process.

Mr. Wiggins entered the room and approached the bed. Prince Hans was stubbornly cocooned inside his plush down-filled duvet, only the top of his head visible amongst the self-made nest.

"Your Highness, it's well after noon. 'Rise and shine' as they say."

Hans mumbled something that sounded suspiciously vulgar before slowly untangling himself from the warm blanket-cocoon and Malene took the opportunity to really take in his haggard appearance.

His hair was disheveled, tangled into an impossible bramble, the tired bags under his eyes were so pronounced he looked as if he had two black eyes, and his clothes were hanging haphazardly on his body, accentuating the deep-set wrinkles that Hans had made in them. He swatted lazily at his shirt in an effort to smooth out the creases, but to no avail. His whole demeanor reminded Malene of an overwatered pothos, droopy, yellow, and desperate for air.

His eyes suddenly caught Malene's gaze in a menacing glare.

She held back a squeak of surprise and looked down at the trousers still draped over her arm.

"Your Highness," Mr. Wiggins began, gaining Hans attention once more, "I have a message from Her Majesty, the Queen Mother."

Hans immediately tensed and Malene felt the atmosphere in the room shift uncomfortably.

"She requests that you join the family for a feast to welcome your return. Along with this, she asks that you allow your valet to do his- pardon, _her_ job."

Hans seemed to droop even more. "If it pleases Her Majesty." He replied, his voice dull and monotone.

Mr. Wiggins and Mrs. Hodgesworth left the room with a bow and curtsy respectively, leaving Malene alone with the prince. She stood awkwardly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Finally, she opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off by Hans brushing passed her and over to the covered tray she had placed on his desk earlier.

Malene shrugged and turned to the wardrobe to put the slacks away. She opened the doors and a sudden feeling of complete overwhelm enveloped her. She wasn't sure how one wardrobe could possibly hold so much. Everything was organized and sub-categorized according to the Prince's preferences. She looked from one category to the next, moving the trousers in her hand forward with hesitation.

"Right side, second shelf down." Hans grumbled from the desk.

Malene sighed in gratitude, put the trousers away, and closed the wardrobe. She peered warily at the prince as he picked at his food in lackluster and nibbled on a few small pieces. His appetite seemingly gone.

 _This_ was the man who slaughtered the Queen and Princess of Arendelle? She was beginning to doubt the rumors circulating around Prince Hans. He was childish, rude, and evidently throwing some kind of infantile tantrum, but he was hardly what she would call a cold-blooded killer, however, she couldn't be sure. It's not like she had any sort of intimate knowledge of the family, nor were her and the prince on any sort of speaking terms so, what did she know? Her eyes narrowed in contemplation.

Malene suddenly realized that Hans was glaring her down yet again. She flushed and quickly turned away to turn the bed down, pretending that she hadn't just been openly staring. She swallowed nervously as he wandered over to his bookshelf and picked out a thick, leather-bound book. He took it back to his desk chair and plopped down idly before flipping to the place he had bookmarked.

Even though Hans had made a show of ignoring Malene's existence, she couldn't help but feel that he was observing her. She refrained from glancing at him, no matter how much she wanted to, and went to re-light the sconces.

Now that the room had been addressed, Malene nodded, satisfied, and moved to leave. A gruff "ahem" halted her. She turned to see Prince Hans staring expectantly at her with an air of arrogance, gesticulating his hands impatiently as if to say, "well?"

Malene frowned a little in confusion. She glanced over the room, but couldn't see anything out of place. She turned her attention back to Hans.

"Did you need something, Your Highness?"

Hans gave her an unimpressed, expectant look. "Aren't you supposed to dress me? Valet?" He spat out the last word like a spoonful of Bitters.

Malene could feel her face flush at the idea of seeing the prince in any amount of undress. Seeing him in naught but his nightshirt this morning was indecent enough as it was.

"Yes, of course. My apologies, Highness."

"Pick something suitable enough for Her Majesty while I shave." Hans ordered as he unbuttoned his vest and began pulling the shirt over his head.

Malene immediately turned her face away, barely suppressing a squeak of horror as Hans crossed the room and slammed the bathroom door close behind him.

Attempting to get her pulse to return to normal, Malene began digging through the wardrobe, but immediately felt overwhelmed again. She gaped at the vast amount of clothing, her stomach filling with dread. She had no idea what to do. She tentatively began to feel the various pairs of trousers; silk, cotton, wool, linen, flax, and even velvet, but that was only the beginning. There were hundreds of colors, cuts, patterns, and pleat styles, many that even she had never seen before.

She chewed her lip anxiously trying to come to a decision. Since it was autumn, it would probably be best for His Highness to be dressed warmly, she turned her attention to the wool trousers. _But what color?_ Although her head began to hurt from all the choices, she finally grabbed a pair of dark blue trousers with gold detailing and set to the task of picking out a shirt and vest, when a loud yell from behind the bathroom door startled her.

Hans burst out of the bathroom, slamming the door against the wall, and making Malene yelp in terror.

"You idiot! What have you done!?" Hans bellowed, swiping an angry hand over the desk, knocking several books, quills, and an inkwell to the ground, smashing the latter.

"Wha-what?" Malene squeaked out in response, but even as the words slipped passed her tongue, her eyes widened in horror at the sight.

"Look what you've done!" Hans shouted again pointing to his face.

Hans' jaw was absolutely covered in tiny red speckles. He looked like every image she had ever conjured during family bible study of what a demon from the depths of Hell might look like.

"Look at my face! I'm ruined! Are you so busy with your sad little life that you couldn't be bothered to sharpen my razor?!"

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Didn't know." Hans growled angrily as he gently rubbed the painful rash left behind from his dulled straight-edge. "Just get the hell out of my sight!"

Malene didn't need to be told twice. Without even bothering to curtsy, she ran out of the room and down the hall as quickly as she could. She slid a little, almost losing her footing entirely, as she rounded a corner and out of sight.

Later that evening, Hans adjusted his cravat one more time and gave his reflection a once over. The razor burn was still as pink as ever and despite the temperature outside, the outfit his "valet" had selected for him was _far_ too warm for an indoor dinner with the whole family. Hans frowned. His annoyed scowl really pulled the whole look together.

Hans snorted in agitation. Maybe it wasn't too late to just change again, but the more he considered it, the more he realized that this humiliation was exactly what the queen mother was banking on.

Thinking of his mother made Hans' hands begin to shake and turn clammy. He clasped his hands behind his back in an effort to get them to stop.

"You're fine. This is fine. Everything's fine." Hans assured himself, repeating the mantra a second time, despite the lack of comfort it offered.

The dinner bell rang loudly and Hans took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before grabbing the handle of the door in his hand.

"You're fine."

Hans entered the dining hall, where the atmosphere was roaring with chatter, the occasional jovial laughter, and boisterous voices clamoring to be heard over one another. His brothers and their wives were already seated, making conversation as they awaited the queen mother.

A few heads turned his direction as he entered and one of the twins, Runo, immediately snorted with raucous laughter.

The remaining attendees turned to see what the fuss was about. They each stared for a moment and several joined the brother in fits of laughter.

"Hey, baby brother! What happened to you? Fall into a hornets' nest?" Runo, a rather unattractive, lanky man, hollered in between his barks of laughter. His wife, tittered lightly behind her delicate hand, encouraging his horseplay.

"Oh Hans, there's no need to be embarrassed." Jurgen joined in, his dimples prominent from his shit-eating grin.

"Don't you see, he's _blushing_ because of how _dashing_ you look tonight." Runo commented, slapping Jurgen on the back with a bout of laughter.

"Oh, of course! It all makes sense now." Jurgen gently slicked back his perfectly preened pompadour before punching Runo's shoulder in friendly comradery.

"He's not embarrassed, just a little _red in the face_!" Rudi joined in, giggling like a little school girl with tears running down his face. "Have too much to drink, eh ickle Hansikins?"

Hans' face remained perfectly neutral through his brothers' abuse. A trick he learned long ago that usually helped to keep things from escalating. He barely breathed as he moved to his seat near the end of the table in between the twins, Runo and Rudi. Rudi grabbed Hans in a tight headlock and rubbed his fist viciously against his victim's scalp. Hans kept his eyes trained down to the empty plate in front of him, but couldn't help the tightening of his fists and the grinding of his teeth. He counted silently in his mind, trying his best to stay calm, but could feel the rising anger and humiliation.

"Oh, Hansie, we've missed you _oh_ , so much!" Rudi mocked in a sarcastic lilting voice before pushing Hans forcefully into Runo, whom pushed him back.

"Knock it off, you two." Caleb's deep, authoritative voice called gently, but firmly from the head of the table. He raised one thick, bushy eyebrow slightly at the twins in a look of chastisement.

"You're no fun." Rudi pouted dramatically, his tawny eyes sparkling with devious amusement.

"Oh come off it, Caleb. We haven't seen our baby brother in six months. We're just having a little fun. Lighten up." Jurgen replied nonchalantly, clapping a large, meaty hand on Lars' shoulder. "Am I right, Lars?"

Lars awkwardly readjusted his glasses and ducked his head down a little. "Please don't drag me into this."

Jurgen laughed boisterously, ruffling Lars' already disheveled dark brown hair.

The twins took the noisy cover to continue their harassment. "So, tell me Hansikins, exactly how lonely did you get on this long voyage?" Runo smiled venomously, like a snake cornering a mouse.

"All alone on a boat, with nothing but a bunch of equally lonely men. Seems like an ideal situation for you." Rudi added, his expression matching Runo's.

Hans bristled slightly, but remained silent. Dinner would be served soon enough, then it would all be over.

"Nothing quite like cozying up to a warm body on those long nights, right? I suppose for a kid like you it wouldn't really matter where that body came from."

Hans gritted his teeth. His jaw began to ache, but he knew from far too many previous encounters that anything he did or said would make matters worse.

He swallowed hard, willing for this evening to end. A sudden movement caught his eye and Hans risked a glance in Rudi's direction, immediately catching his brother's predatory stare.

Hans instantly realized his mistake and turned away, but this action only egged Rudi on. Before he could duck, Rudi swung his arm, slamming Hans' head to the table with a clatter, and pinned it there.

"What's the matter, Hansikins? Why won't you talk to us? You were gone for so long, it's very rude of you to ignore us."

Runo casually rested his arm on Hans' cheek, shifting his weight into digging his elbow into the bone. "You can't escape what's coming to you forever, baby brother. We have six long months of brotherly bonding time to make up for and you can only lock yourself away for so long."

Hans grimaced, forcing himself to remain still. Finally, with seemingly a single movement, Rudi and Runo ground Hans' a little harder into the table before releasing him and composing themselves as if nothing had happened.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the table as the door handle turned with a quiet click and the doors pushed open. Hans felt his stomach tighten and a cold sweat moisten his forehead. His heart pounded loudly in his chest and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on his lap as he struggled to keep his breath even. Her heels tapped gently on the cold, stone floors, as she gracefully glided into the room. Her long skirt billowing as it trailed behind her and her jewels glinted brilliantly in the light of the chandelier.

Hans' eldest brother, King Caleb, quickly stood from his chair at the head of the table and with a sophisticated air, elegantly pulled the queen mother's chair, to the right side of him, out with ease. The queen mother smiled gently at him and gestured for Caleb to retake his seat, which he did graciously.

Queen Mother Alyona allowed her eyes to inspect each of her handsome sons and their lovely wives in turn. When her eyes landed on Hans, a hint of cruel amusement sparkled in her eyes so briefly, that Hans wasn't sure if he even saw it, before she continued.

"How wonderful it is to have the whole family together tonight to celebrate the return of the Southern Isles Beloved Prince, Hans. Tonight, we will feast in honor of his safe return from his recent trip to Arendelle as ambassador of our fine kingdom."

The queen mother raised her glass, prompting the others to follow suit. "To Prince Hans, every bit the man as his father before him."

The gathered family drank in toast to Hans and immediately the servants bustled noiselessly around them, serving the first course: celery soup.

The gentle clang of silverware sang harmoniously with the cacophony of idle chatter. Hans sighed resignedly before dipping into the thick, creamy soup. It was delicious, as always, but Hans' stomach continued to tighten with an unknown sense of impending dread. He glanced up the table at the queen mother who was chatting quietly with Caleb and his wife, Queen Evelyn. As if feeling Hans' eyes on her the queen mother began scanning the table and Hans immediately looked back into the depths of his half-eaten bowl.

Despite the unbearable heat of his wool suit against the fireplace blaze, Hans could feel the hairs on his neck stand on end and a chill run through him. He swallowed hard as he returned to the third course, wild pigeon and boiled cabbage, among other things. He dabbed at his mouth before bringing the deep red Bordeaux to his lips, when a jostle from his left sloshed the liquid onto his cravat and down the front of his white shirt.

Hans glared at Runo who seemed far too interested in the pasta on his plate in an attempt to seem innocent. It may have worked too, were it not for the suppressed snickering snorts he elicited.

Hans made a vain attempt to remove the stain by blotting at it a few times, which seemed to do very little except elevate his irritation.

As his nearly untouched plate from the seventh course was being removed and trays of quince jelly, scotch cake, chocolate profiteroles, and molasses candies entered the room, the queen mother's voice carried over the bustling.

"That brings me to mind, Hans dear-"

His name slipping from her lips made his stomach lurch involuntarily, almost causing him to lose his supper. His eyes widened and his face paled as he turned to look his mother in the eye.

"-would you mind telling your brothers about your trip to the kingdom of Arendelle? I'm sure they'd be delighted to hear a first-hand account of your time there." Her forced smile quirked up on one side making the temperature in the room seemingly drop into the single digits. Her steely dark brown eyes were cold, calculating, and unfeeling as she stared him down as one might a particularly disgusting spider slinking around in a dungeon.

Hans met her gaze. He tried to remain poised, but even from her position near the head of the table, the queen mother could see him failing to repress the trembling of his shoulders.

Hans tried to find his voice in her presence, but his throat suddenly went dry and his tongue seemed thick, heavy, and immovable.

"You offer no justification for your actions?" the queen mother asked, her voice like ice. When Hans continued in his silence the queen mother's face slipped into neutral elegance. "Five days ago, I received an official notice from the Arendelle's palace that Prince Hans attempted to murder both their queen and princess and take over the kingdom in an act of warmongering hostility."

Hans shot to his feet, "I didn't-"

"Hold your tongue!" The queen mother hissed. Hans slowly sat back down, his head low as his brothers looked between him and the queen mother.

"According to the castle overseer, Princes Hans incited civil unrest against the monarchy in a deliberate act of treason and an aggression of war against Arendelle and her alliances, thus cutting off established and future trade, travel, and diplomacy between our kingdoms."

Rudi and Runo smirked at Hans and his incredible failure. While most of those gathered at the table stared at Hans in mixed reactions of hostility, King Caleb stared solemnly in abject disappointment.

"Therefore, as Queen Mother, I feel that not only for the safety of the kingdom, but also as an act of repentance for his crimes and to reestablish international relations with Arendelle, that Prince Hans must suffer the gauntlet of retribution and punishment. Currently, he is under house arrest, but I do not feel this is adequate penance and with such fine, upstanding men as my sons, I would ask for your contributions in the matter."

"Mother," Lars began, "isn't house arrest a little unreasonable seeing as Hans has duties outside of the castle that would require his attendance?"

The queen mother laced her fingers together thoughtfully. "You may have a point, Lars. Very well, since you seem so interested in Hans' additional duties, I will have them delegated to you."

Lars' eyes widened with mild horror, but he wisely stayed silent on the matter.

"Hans will be permitted within the confines of the castle gates. Furthermore, sailing, hunting, and social calls of any sort, without my permission, is prohibited."

Jurgen hid his laughter behind his hand. "You know, Mother, I find that menial tasks build character. Nothing like having servants polish my hunting rifles and sharpening the knives for six hours before and after a hunt to make you appreciate not having to do it yourself."

"Yeah, but we wouldn't want little ickle Hansikins injuring his dainty hands." Rudi chortled, "He'll need them for feeding and brushing the horses. That'll build some nice callouses."

"Make him muck the stalls!" Rudi shouted will a demented glee. Runo seconded the motion.

"Wiggins." The queen mother beckoned the butler to her.

"Your majesty?" He inquired dutifully.

"When one of the servants is problematic, aside from dismissal, what other methods do you employ?"

"Polishing the silver, your Majesty." He answered honestly.

The queen mother nodded retrospectively as her sons continued to shout suggestions, each one more miserable and humiliating than the last.

Hans' eyes were wide as humiliation and fury bubbled up inside him. His brows knit tightly as the anger brought the beginnings of a migraine with it. His fists were shaking with rage as the roaring voices washed over him.

"Hans," the queen mother finally spoke, "this may take a while. You're excused from the table."

Hans violently pushed away from the table, the dessert dishes jangled angrily and his chair clattered to the floor before he threw the door open and disappeared from sight.

Hans' bedroom door rattled violently as he slammed it shut behind him. He paced frantically for a few seconds before slamming his fists into the hard wood door with an enraged, guttural roar.

"Damn them!" He bellowed, his throat raw from the volume.

He took a few clumsy steps from the door, half-staggering into the armoire, his rage making his vision blur slightly. Hans snarled viciously at the piece of antique furniture before kicking it, nearly breaking his foot in the process.

His cravat and jacket seemed so suffocating now as adrenaline coursed through him, fueling his fury. He ripped the articles from his body, a couple of buttons skittered across the floor as he flung his jacket onto the bed.

Hans seized a downy pillow and flung it across the room, hitting the door with a soft thump. He turned back to the bed and in a single motion flipped the mattress over and off the frame.

"Damn them all!" he cursed again, kicking the mattress with his uninjured foot for good measure.

He stormed towards his desk and swiped his arm over it, causing the neat stack of documents to cascade gracelessly around him before grabbing the book he had been reading and throwing it hard against the opposite wall, causing the spine to break and the front cover to rip off.

Hans grabbed at the velvet curtains and ripped them and the rod from the widow in a thunderous clatter.

"Damn them all to Hell!"

Malene hurried up the stairs, taking them two at a time. How Irma knew Hans had retired early for the evening was anyone's guess really, but Malene was just grateful for the information so she could do her job.

She cut through a servant's passageway and turned the corner to Han's bedchamber. She could hear some noise from the other side, making her feel anxious.

She rapped firmly on the door and waited a moment. No answer. She knocked a second time.

"Your Highness?" She called. Still no answer through the chaos on the other side of the door. Worried the prince might be in some kind of trouble, Malene turned down the handle and pushed the door open wide.

Something small and black flew by her face, missing it by inches, before shattering against the door frame, spraying liquid and glass across her face and uniform.

Malene locked eyes with Hans and her heart seemed to drop into her stomach at the sight of him.

His shirt was unbuttoned mid-way, exposing was heaving chest, his hair, drenched with sweat, hung limply in his face, and his eyes were dark with fury as they bore into her. A tremor shook her body, causing her heart to beat once more, thudding painfully as if a hummingbird was trying to burst from her chest.

She realized her fingers were trembling only after she brought them up to her cheek in a terrified trance. Liquid and a jolt of pain greeted her touch, but she couldn't pull her eyes away from Hans' wild face.

It took Hans a moment to register what had just happened. Malene stood horrorstruck in his doorway, her face covered in India ink as a small bead of blood trickled across her cheekbone and down her jaw. After a couple haggard breaths, he was beginning to calm down and the gravity of his outburst began to sink in. His expression softened slightly, regret bubbling up and forming a lump in his throat. Hans turned away, leaning against the desk for support as he waited for Malene to say something, or to even move.

He swallowed passed the lump, finally forcing himself to speak.

"Just….go."

The words hardly reached Malene's ears as she trembled in her spot. She couldn't move, frozen in place, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Go!"

Malene finally snapped out of herself as she tumbled gracelessly out of the room onto the floor. She picked herself up and dashed back down the servant stairs and hallways. Ragged breaths ripped through her lungs as her feet pounded into the floor pushing her ever faster. Her heart beat furiously against her chest with the physical exertion.

The slam of the door behind her gave her the needed security and privacy of her dimly lit bedroom. The solid wood supported her as she gasped for air, coughing as she tried to calm herself down. The adrenaline that had pumped through her now drained as she collapsed onto the floor in front of the door. She shook violently as the fear passed over her. Tears streamed down her sweaty, ink-streaked face, lips trembled as painful gasps racked her drained body.

She sat there as her body slowly stilled to the occasional gasp, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She turned to face the room leaning tiredly against the door. Her eyes trailed over to her leafy companion.

"Oh Beatrice, what have I gotten myself into?"


End file.
